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Every time I cross the Eel River just north of Scotia I look over at the Scotia Bluffs rising above the river and think of that perfect swimming hole. It had everything — a beach and river bottom of the softest silty sand, a no-nonsense drop-off which shortened the wade-out time, a diving board, raft, and even a dressing room. The small beach was never crowded. The boys from Wildwood had to swim the river to reach it. The “Scotia kids” had to walk a half-mile of daunting railroad trestle.

There was a period during the middle 1930s, in the depths of the Great Depression, when on warm summer days a group of about a dozen Scotia girls hiked along the railroad tracks to swim at the Bluffs. Some of the ones I remember 70 years later are Beverly and Jeanne Bendorf, Emmy Lou, Lorene and Gladys Grove, Lois MacMillan, Grace Alexander, Hazel Lundquist, Barbara Ball, my sister, Barbara Bendorf, and me. There were some others, and always some younger boys trailing along behind, but never walking with us. Our ages ranged from about 9 years old to 16.

Shortly after dropping down to the tracks below the North Court section of Scotia, we passed the hobo camp, which seems so vivid to me now, even though we were all instructed not to look at or talk to any of the men residing there. The neat compound, located in the trees besides the tracks, was painted barn red, including the fence around it. Shirts and overalls hung from clotheslines stretched between the trees, and large pots of savory stew and soup simmered on outdoor fires. The aroma was delicious. The men would wave and call out friendly greetings. Duly ignoring them, we hurried on our way.

We passed thick stands of stinging nettles and thimbleberries crowding the tracks and soon reached the formidable trestle. I can still remember stepping across the long, curving trestle, railroad tie by railroad tie, high above the river and rocks below — the Bluffs looming ahead on the right. This was logging country and we were all conscious of logging trains. Our trip to the Bluffs took the logging train schedule into account. One train went by mid-afternoon while we were still swimming (we always waved to the engineer from the river) and we were safely back by the time the next one came through.

But as we negotiated the trestle I would figure out what to do if a train did come along. The only solution I could come up with was to head for a somewhat rickety water barrel platform, which extended beyond the trestle at intervals. I figured each platform would hold, besides the water barrel, at least two or three of us, and we would all stand there and wave as the train passed by. No doubt others in the group had the same idea, but the strategy was never needed.

Modern parents may wonder why we young folks were allowed to make such a trek. My mother, for one, had implicit faith in Emmy Lou Grove and Grace Alexander. They were the oldest ones, and both responsible high school girls. And young Bus O’Donnell was often at the swimming hole to watch over things. He was Scotia’s expert swimmer and instructor, and I suspect he saw that there were rafts and diving boards for our use at the popular holes.

The swimming hole was located at the base of the Bluffs. We slid down the steep trail to the sandy beach and headed for the dressing room to change into swimsuits. This was an enclosure of large river boulders and bushes that served the purpose well. Where the boys changed is a mystery.

A diving board was built where the bank was highest, and we spent hours watching the boys’ antics off the board. I can still see Johnny Baratti in his red swim trunks, and Nello and Angie Barsanti, Kenny Dougherty, Gino Benetti, Don Macmillan, Clement Crowley, Nilo Sei, Bruce Alexander, Dale and Gene Livingston, and so many others.

In the meantime the girls were swimming out to the raft and even swimming across the river to the gravel bar side. In those days there was more water in the Eel River at this point, and the current could be swift in the middle. We Scotia kids were lucky because the Pacific Lumber Company made sure we all had access to swimming lessons and water safety and lifesaving techniques, and all who attempted the Bluffs trip were good swimmers. Even so, Hazel Lundquist recalls that on one occasion she was swimming underwater and came up under the raft. There was a moment of panic until she submerged again and came out from under. Sometimes we would climb up the Bluffs and chip out clamshell fossils, which were all over its surface. We had a vague idea the area had once been under the ocean, but hadn’t a clue as to the geologic significance of the formation.

Is Nanning Creek still accessible, and do the boys still fish there? The little redwood sign was just across the tracks from the swimming hole, pointing to the trail that led abruptly into dense green foliage. Why we girls never hiked down that trail and explored Nanning Creek is beyond me. Now I consider it unfinished business. I remember the young anglers of yesteryear that fished Nanning Creek — Sam Pond, Victor Soares, Ross Hill, Ralphie Goddi, George Jones, and others — disappearing down that trail with fishing rods in hand.

Scotia kids were trained to be home by the 5:15 mill whistle. Around four o’clock the logging train passed by, giving us a friendly toot. That was the signal to get out of the water and change for the trip back. There were no plastic bags in those days, so we wrapped our wet swimsuits in our soggy, sandy towels, climbed up the cliff to the tracks and headed home for supper.

On summer Sundays, Scotia families picnicked at other swimming beaches in the area. Gladwood, located just south of the Dyerville bridge, was a great favorite. It is now the Federated Women’s Grove, and its claim to fame is a handsome four-way river rock and redwood fireplace designed by Julia Morgan, who was the designer and architect of Hearst Castle. For years there was a flag attached to the tree at the turnoff into the redwood grove so no one would miss the road. The fireplace is still there, as well as the long half-round log picnic tables. The stellar jays still beg and squawk, and the redwood trees still creak and groan as they sway in the wind. But the sandy beach and river bottom are all pebbles now as a result of the big flood.

Echo on the Van Duzen past Carlotta (now known as Swimmers’ Delight) was another Sunday and camping destination. In the old Echo days, families camped on a flat near the beach. Hazelnut bushes lined the old narrow road to the river, and the children were allowed to ride on the car running board. We swam, gathered hazelnuts, skipped rocks, dove for white rocks and yelled across the river to hear our voices come back to us. We always drove home from these swimming spots with multiple wool swimsuits hanging over the car radiator ornament, along with the old square canvas water bag. Floods and changes in weather have taken their toll on those old swimming holes. There are so many other things for children to do nowadays, perhaps families don’t spend as much time swimming and picnicking along the beautiful rivers of Humboldt County.

I do not recall how many years we swam at the Bluffs — maybe a year or two, maybe longer. I was one of the youngest ones, and I know by the time I reached the eighth grade we were spending most of our swim time at the river bar below the Scotia park. But the image of that perfect swimming hole below the railroad tracks, like the clamshell fossils on the face of the Bluffs, is forever embedded in my memory and a highlight of the many wonderful recollections of growing up in Scotia.